The Fire
by SolarBat
Summary: We've got the fire, but does it mean anything?  We've got the fire tonight!  We wanna fight but will that change anything?  Will it make it alright?


**The Fire**

By SolarBat

…+…

**Chapter 1**

Sounds Like A Whisper

…+…

The sky was aflame as the sun sank behind the silhouette of the coffee shop. The sweltering Arizona summer heat waned into a new, cooler temperature, one almost bearable for human habitat. I heard a loud sigh of contentment from my circle as a breath of wind swam through us. I leant back and closed my eyes, enjoying the brief moment of cool freedom. A large group of friends and I were sitting on the curb by a Starbucks, something of a tradition we started that summer. Every Thursday we meet at the place of someone's choice (usually mine) and discuss important matters. Actually, we usually discuss random shit, but as high schoolers, we rarely have important matters to talk about, anyway.

I was jolted from my half-sleep by a hard smack in the chest.

"Will! Hey, Will! Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" My best friend, Keith, said loudly. "We still have business to attend to, remember?"

"Fuck you, faggot," I grumbled, but I knew he was right. Tonight was different. We were three quarters of the way through summer, and band practice had just resumed after a three week break. During that break we had a lot of time to think, and Keith and I were concerned about the future of our marching band. That was the reason we invited more people to this get-together than we usually do. I sighed somewhat less contentedly and sat up straight.

"Best to bring it up now, you think?" I asked him. He looked around, scanning the assembled group with his wide blue eyes.

"Yeah, I think now would be good," he nodded. "They're all making small talk. It's kind of sad, actually. You'd be doing them a favor by instilling a decent conversation."

"You're probably right," I said, taking a good look at my circle and nearly laughing out loud at the awkwardness of it all.

I raised my voice somewhat and started rather lamely. "So… band."

Everyone assembled broke off their conversations and turned their attention to me. This was all I really needed.

"Okay, look, guys. I have something I really want you input on. I think most of you have noticed what's been going on with the band lately. We've lost some of our most dedicated members already, and the new members are changing their minds at a rate faster than ever before."

"Of course they are!" Roger, a dark-haired tuba player yelled out boldly. "At new members' camp, Luther beat the shit out of them with wicked core workouts! I know I wouldn't have kept with it when I was a freshman if I thought they were going to abuse me like that." Luther Erkens was our brassline technician and former alumnus prodigy as well as one of the marching technicians, along with Tony Berk and the amiable Jason Lubos.

"Exactly," I said, noticing the serious tone the conversation had taken. "And I'm sure you all remember what started happening last year halfway through the season, when Tony and Luther suddenly-"

"Suddenly turned into bitches from hell?" Roger finished my statement better than I could.

"Yeah!" Karen, a tenor saxophone cried out. "It was all work, no praise. Remember when Luther was so cruel to Chloe that she ran off the field in tears? What was that about?"

"I think it's pretty obvious what they're trying to do," said Keith, running his fingers nervously through his wavy brown hair. "They want to make us as close to a drum corps as we can possibly get. I mean think about it," he continued quickly as a few people started to show opposition, "Two drum majors this year? The same drill writer as our closest drum corps? Tony, Luther, Jason, half of the percussion techs, and all of the guard techs are drum corps members or age-outs. And everyone knows Mr. Collins is positively obsessed with it." There was a general agreement to this.

"Yeah, so basically you guys get why I asked you all to come," I said, realizing I was running out of time. "There's something going on with our band, and I don't think I like it. We're all seniors here, and most of us were around for what may have been the final year of… well, uh…"

"The final year of what marching band should be?" Leah, a girl from my section, asserted.

"Right! That's it! Sophomore year was essentially a nightmare, with that whole mass quitting thing that was totally groundless, by the way, and last year Luther and Tony decided we don't need, you know, any kind of sympathy or decency! From what Keith tells me, the winter brass line proved this as a fact. You all know that the Sierra Trueno band has a legacy behind it, and I'm not talking about any of the awards we've won, or the Fiesta Bowl, or anything like that. You know what I'm talking about." I chose not to go any further into it. "But basically, this isn't gonna work out. Unless they loosen the reigns and give us back some goddamn tradition, I think we should take action." I saw the reaction I was expecting instantly. A lot of faces were looking very hesitant. "I don't mean now, but like, let's give them a month. I know people have already talked to Collins about this, but he doesn't seem to be changing anything."

Karen shifted positions apprehensively. "What do you mean by 'take action'"

I shrugged. "We have a month to think about it, don't we?"

…+…

Thirty minutes later, the curb was clear except for Keith, myself, and a couple of Mexican workers on break. We watched as the car of the final attendant turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

"That went pretty well," said Keith optimistically.

"Meh… I don't know. I think we might be getting into this a bit too early. I mean, pre-camp hasn't even started yet."

"I think that means this is an even bigger problem than we thought. We've been noticing the drastic change in personalities among the staff sing last year. I think we're getting into this right on time."

He made a pretty good point.

"Yeah… well, we'll just have to wait and see to make sure we aren't going to be revolting against something that doesn't need to be revolted against." I thought about the incident my sophomore year when several bastard upperclassmen quit over a petty matter of the march-a-thon's date, and also the incident that happened the year before I was a freshman when, simply out of spite for Mr. Collins in his first year as band director, a large portion of the band walked off of the field. I never wanted to be like them.

"Don't worry about it, Will. We'll make damn sure we know what we're doing before we do anything too crazy."

"I hope you're right."

…+…


End file.
